


Broken: Epilogue

by Tony



Series: Broken Verse [2]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tony/pseuds/Tony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An epilogue to my Broken fic-- or, the story of how John Blake became Nightwing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There'll be 4 chapters of this crap. This first one doesn't have sex, sorry, it's just a bit of a prelude. I really enjoyed writing it especially since I've got a bit of a suit kink. 
> 
> This fic has been sitting around for a few months now and I never knew whether I should post it or not considering since the time I began Broken, there's been so much other great Bane/Blake fics and mine was exactly the same as all the others (good 'ol Stockholm Syndrome) so I didn't think I should bother since there was nothing new I could add. But here I am posting it. I was going to have a nice long plot, actually have this GO somewhere, but plot is the one thing I'm horrible at (why can't all fics just be mindless sex?) so there's a little, but it's mostly just John struggling with trying to pick up the pieces of himself after the events in Broken. I don't know a lot about comic canon so I only touched briefly (blink and you'll miss it) on anything canon. Mostly just movie canon and whatever I thought sounded good.
> 
> Rated E for the proceeding chapters. Same warnings as in Broken- noncon, Blake being a pathetic broken cockslut for Bane's monster dick, mandhandling of pretty boys, etc. 
> 
> As always, it's Unbeta'd, so if there's any glaring mistakes, try not to let it ruin your day lol.
> 
> Enjoy. I'll have the other 3 chapters up quickly.

The first time Blake prowled the city in costume, it was as Batman. Or rather, he had worn Batman’s costume and paraded himself as something he wasn’t—with good intentions of course, but he’d made a fool of himself nonetheless. He was the right height, but not the right bodyweight, and even after training himself for months he couldn’t quite get the correct muscle mass to fit into the suit. To be fair, the suit was tailored to fit Bruce Wayne, not John Blake, but he’d tried to wear it anyway, had trained in it even though it was incredibly uncomfortable and on his maiden run as the new Batman, he’d embarrassed himself royally.

The cops almost caught him, three of the five robbers had escaped, and he’d been scolded by the hostages for donning the costume itself, saying how it was in bad taste. Blake had gone home that night, ripped the costume off and buried it in the bottom of his closet. He pouted petulantly about it for a week before putting a stop to his sniffling and changing his game plan. As an ex-police officer and detective, he had a certain number of connections. John knew a lot of people with a lot of professions that came in handy on the job, but this time he’d enlisted the help of a childhood friend from the orphanage. 

“And what did you say you need this for again? A Halloween party…?”

Blake dimpled, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Yeah, something like that. Thanks so much for this Mrs. T, it means a lot,” he admitted genuinely, watching the woman stitch blue thread through black.

Mrs. Todd was the mother of Blake’s old friend Jason from when he was a teen. Jason had been a handsome boy, a few years older, but a ruffian. He’d gotten himself mixed up in some trouble with one of Batman’s old enemies and ended up in the gutters with his head bashed in via crowbar. Blake had been like a second son to Mrs. T and he’d been there for her when the police came to her door saying they’d found her son’s body in a ditch. Or what they thought was his body. They’d needed her to come in and identify the mess of a young man whose face was so badly beaten it was unrecognizable.

The suit, she’d said, was no big deal— the least she could do as a friend and almost-mother after he’d done so much for her emotionally and, on occasion, financially. It was black lycra with a blue, vaguely bird-like shape across the chest stretching out to stripes on the arms and down to the fingers. A simple design, but sleek and it caught the eye. It hadn’t needed much modification, especially not for an experienced seamstress like Mrs. T. The only mask he’d adopted was a black eye cover that hid his upper face and doubled as night vision goggles. He was a nobody anyway, just some kid who used to be a cop, so not like keeping his face hidden was a big deal.

“It fits perfectly!” John grinned, a tinkling laughter passing his lips as he slid his fingers smoothly down his body from his chest to his hips. It was snug, as it should be, and left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He’d have to look into purchasing a cup of some kind elsewise he might embarrass himself in another way… not that he wasn’t fairly well endowed, but he wanted to be known for things other than the way his dick was so finely outlined by his skin tight suit. “Thank you so much!” he hugged the older woman closely, light brown hair with streaks of grey tickling his face and making his nose twitch.

Mrs. Todd patted John’s back and he blushed, laughing it off and pulling away. “Don’t worry about it. Anyway,” she huffed, wiping her hands absently on her worn jeans. “What’s your name?” Blake raised his eyebrows in question and she rolled her eyes. “You’re some kinda superhero right? What’s your name. Blue Bird or somethin’?”

Blake laughed, pulling his gloves off to feel the blue pattern on his chest with the tips of his fingers. “I was thinking… Nightwing.”

And so began John Blake’s career as the crime fighting ex-cop with the broken heart he kept hidden from the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woulda got this out sooner but shit's been going on, lots of drama, you know how it is. 
> 
> Shit's gonna get a little darker from here on out. I'll post chapter 3 tonight too, it's really short. 4 will probably be posted tomorrow. 
> 
> Thanks a lot for reading, guys.

It had been over a year since John faced Bane. After they’d parted ways, John had done his best to steer clear of the villain, and the closest he came to dealing with the man was when Nightwing apprehended some of his lackeys causing trouble in the city. Blake wasn't scared, that wasn't the problem. He wasn't sure what the deal was actually, he just knew he didn't want to see Bane. The memory of their time together still stung, still made him feel nauseous, anxious, still made sweat break out on the back of his neck.

The problem was that it still made him hard too. The Stockholm Syndrome he’d developed while being held hostage by Bane all those months ago was still there. In the night he dreamed of Bane, of those large powerful muscles enveloping his body, that hot, thick cock spearing him repeatedly as he cried out, and he’d wake up feeling needy and erect. He’d gone into therapy after he’d been rescued, had admitted to being raped by not only Bane, but by strangers, had admitted that after a while he’d grown accustomed to rough sex, had even begun to look forward to Bane’s touch by the end, and he’d been sent home with a prescription for Xanax and a recommendation to find himself a nice girl to settle down with.

John had tried to find himself a girl, he really had, and when that hadn't worked out for him he’d tried to find himself a man. Much to his shameful disappointment, not a lot of people seemed too into the idea of beating the shit out of him before fucking him. Apparently a sex partner who enjoyed crying during lovemaking was just too much for some people, so Blake had again sucked it up and decided it was better to fly solo. It hurt to know that there were such longstanding aftereffects of his captivity, that the months he’d spent being Bane’s play toy would make him unable to even acquire a stable sex life.

Everyday life was hard for Blake. He worked part time at a coffee shop to keep the semblance of normalcy going, because that’s what normal people did, work, and he’d spent most of his life pretending to be normal so it wasn't that hard to get back on that bicycle. If he needed money though, it wasn't that hard to get, not as a masked vigilante anyway. Beat up the bad guys, quietly take a cut from their already stolen cash, get the bills paid, live life, right?

There were days when Blake regretted his rescue. It was incredibly selfish, diluted, downright demented of him to think that way, but he honestly couldn't think of a happier life than what he’d had towards the end of his captivity. Spending all day in a luxurious bed, on his knees servicing the man who took care of him, clothed him, fed him, sheltered him, and even the occasional beatings for disobedience he received weren't bad compared to the monotonous life he lived now. Many times he considered going back to Bane, but knew better than to expect things to be the same after Blake had been rescued and Talia’s plot exposed. Bane might even have Blake killed on the spot. He couldn't be sure.

John’s alter ego kept him satisfied for the most part. Nightwing was feared among the general population of thugs and petty criminals, thieves, pushers. He hadn't been Nightwing for very long, but having his own suit and his own persona had given him confidence, helped put his game face on, and now whenever he prowled he rarely slipped up, made a fool of himself. He’d go to work with bruises, cuts on his face, and he’d feel glorious for it. Nothing excited him more, nothing made him forget more easily than the adrenaline rush from a fight between him and the bad guys, good vs. evil. It got him off in more ways than one having a fist pounding into his face, a grubby hand pulling at his soft hair, a steel pipe or the butt of a gun slamming into the back of his head. It felt almost like home, in a sick, perverted way.

Blake eventually began outright looking for trouble instead of just keeping a lookout for it. There was an itch under his skin that he couldn't scratch and it was driving him absolutely wild with fervor, the closest he could get to relief being the wild trysts in alleyways he had with random thugs-- ganbangs where he was held down and choked into submission, fucked raw and spat on as men took turns with his limber body. He’d cry and wail, and half the time he wasn't even hard as it happened, but it was the most pleasure he’d gotten since…. since Bane was in his life. If he clenched his eyes shut just hard enough, the belts or chains or hands around his neck squeezing just tight enough, he could almost imagine Bane standing there, overseeing it, a smile in his eyes as his Pet was pleasured.

It was a miracle he hadn't caught any diseases. He told his doctor he was a hustler, that selling his body was the only way he could make ends meet because no job wanted him when his face was constantly bruised and cut up. Of course the doctor knew he was lying, had even mentioned how strange it was that a man with a build like Blake’s couldn't defend himself against violent “customers”, but Blake had deadpanned and shrugged it off.

Outside of his job as Nightwing, he kept himself in good shape, worked out constantly, and those nights he got too lonely, he’d make his way down to the local nightclub and have a stranger fuck him in a bathroom stall. It was all-in-all a fairly disgusting life, and John only tried to half justify it with the fact that he was keeping the streets clean. It wasn't a lie anyway, and the police could testify to that with how many scumbags Nightwing had bagged and delivered practically right to the GCPD door.

One night, Blake’s world came to a crashing halt with what he thought was a simple drug bust. He’d been staking the warehouse out for days, waiting until the ringleader of the whole mess showed up. He was lying flat in the shadow of one roof against another across the street, watching men go in and out of the back entrance, ready to spring at the right moment when suddenly an SUV pulled up and armed, suited men started piling out, followed by a short balding man in a tacky gold suit. And last to step out of the vehicle was… Bane.

Blake’s body plastered against the shadowed brick wall, his mouth open and his face drained of all color. His heart was pounding, legs trembling, bile building up in his throat. What was Bane doing with drug dealers? In a meth lab? John wanted to flee, but he couldn't move, his body unwilling to let him slink away, and suddenly Bane was slowly turning, his head swiveling around to check his surroundings, and— God no, he was looking right at Blake, staring, just standing there stock still.

The lenses of Blake’s Nightwing mask zoomed in just a tad, and he knew that Bane saw him, they were staring right at each other. He expected something, maybe for Bane to send someone around to flush him out, maybe for Bane to approach Blake himself, but instead the bulky villain turned without any sort of signal and followed the other men into the warehouse.

It was dead silent outside, the only sound being the blood rushing in John’s ears, his chest burning with the need to breathe. He’d been holding his breath… Finally he opened his mouth and gasped, falling forward onto his hands, his arms trembling and shoulders shaking. So many emotions were washing over him, his head pounded and his cock had jerked to life. It was Bane, the man who’d held him captive for months, who’d raped him, who’d treated him with such gentleness it was sickening. The mental and physical torture he’d endured, the frequent change of environments, the large hands that had burned invisible marks into his skin…

He had just enough time to lean over the edge of the building before the contents of his stomach exited violently through his mouth and splattered on the ground two stories below. Blake trembled and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his sick tainting the bright blue of his finger stripes and making him grimace. He was incredibly ashamed of himself, of his reaction, the way his body couldn’t forget Bane, that gentle and frightening touch, the feel of his cock as it pierced Blake to his core. 

God, he was an emotional clusterfuck.


	3. Chapter 3

“…hasn’t made an appearance in weeks, local authorities wondering if the vigilante known as ‘Nightwing’ has been killed in action….”

Blake shut the TV off and dropped his bowl of cereal into the sink, still half full of Lucky Charms. He trudged into his room and sunk onto his bed, wriggling under the covers as if he were hiding from something. In fact, the only thing he was hiding from was himself— he was deathly afraid of breaking apart, of embarrassing himself, dropping to his knees and submitting to his own fears and wants and… and submitting to Bane. He’d tried so hard to move on, to forget everything, get on with his life and he’d been doing horribly, but at least he was doing something good with his life, and he knew that if he saw Bane again that he’d give in, he’d crawl on his belly like the lowlife that he is, he’d ask to be taken back, he’d forfeit every bit of progress he’d made to sink back into the life he had as a— as a god damned concubine!

He’d been sleeping fitfully ever since the night he saw Bane. Every time sleep would overcome him, he’d find himself in a dream of his old life, a masked face wheezing a grunt into his shoulder as a heavy paw-like hand sunk into his hair. Blake would wake up on his belly, palms flat on the mattress and elbows in the air like he was pressing back against a hard fuck, his stomach and the sheets wet and sticky with cum. It was shameful behavior-- conditioned behavior. He’d been trained by Bane to act this way, to get hard as a palm slapped across his cheek, to moan as his nipples were pinched and twisted, to cum as a restraint was looped around his neck, blacking out his vision. John was no longer human, instead some sort of wanton whore who longed for the touch of a powerful evil, a creature of the night who silently begged to be abused.

There was no denying it. John was a weak man, and the more he thought about it, the more settled he became on his decision. He needed to find Bane, needed to apologize, beg for forgiveness, something! Needed to get out of his apartment, out of this funk he was in, needed to submit. Four weeks was enough time to sulk, to try and convince himself that he didn't need Bane, that he was a man, that he was almost 25 years old and needed to get his act together. A month and he knew that he was a man, was Bane’s man through and through. He was ruined, spoiled, and the only person (if such a monster could really be qualified as a “person”) who could possibly satisfy him sexually, emotionally, physically was Bane.

On his knees beside the bed, John unlocked and pulled open the small secret drawer on his bed frame containing his suit. He stared at it a moment, touched the fabric gently with his fingers, trying to decide whether or not he was worthy of the costume, of even the name he’d given himself. He probably wasn't, but he steeled himself anyway and pulled the suit on, the lycra snug on his skin over the reinforced breastplate he wore. The material was something of Wayne’s, some kind of expensive product that the police hadn't had access to, and seemed to be resistant to most gunfire and knives. It wasn't really needed most of the time though— Blake specialized in agility, knew how to stick to the shadows after months of training, mostly on the job.

It wouldn't matter how reinforced anything of Nightwing’s was, not when faced with Bane, but he pulled on the gloves and boots anyway, slipped the mask into place and licked his lips. He had no idea where Bane was, knew better than to ask around, but he’d search. He needed to find the villain who’d crushed his soul, captured his heart like a bird in a cage, twisted his hope around his thick fingers until it broke from the strain. And if Bane wouldn't take him back, well, he’d fight to the death to show the masked man just how serious he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is quite a bit longer (3100 words). I'll have it up tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fairy tales end with the good guys winning. Some don't.

The sewers had been abandoned by Bane and his “army” long ago, but it didn't hurt to look around anyway. All that was left of his old home seemed to be in shambles-- homeless men with their dogs occupying most of the enclosed areas. Even the small dirty room that had once been his own now housed what seemed to be a dead body, rotting away on the cockroach infested mattress Blake had been fucked on an endless amount of times in the past. It was sickening to see, Blake’s heart feeling squeezed and hollow as he left the room and, eventually, the entire sewer system. He couldn't be there anymore, not with the memories that infested his mind like moths, couldn't look at the blood stains on the concrete from the fistfights, couldn't stomach seeing the rusted metal tub where he took his baths. He’d look somewhere else. It was a mistake to have gone to the sewers.

Days went by and Blake rarely slept. He’d catch 20 minutes of sleep in the closet of an abandoned business building, an hour of sleep in the stall of an unused subway train. He was practically a zombie prowling the streets as soon as the sun started to set each day. He hadn't seen Bane anywhere, hadn't heard anything about him, and was beginning to think maybe the villain had skipped town until Blake found another meth lab set up in a dilapidated motel on the outskirts of the city. He was tired, exhausted to the bone and wanted to give up his search, go back to his apartment and maybe down a few Xanax and pass out, but he couldn't, couldn't leave when there was the merest of chances he’d see Bane.

Luck may or may not have been on Nightwing’s side as he finally got his wish on his second night watching the motel. He’d been dozing in a garage nearby when the SUV from weeks ago made another appearance. Blake snapped to attention, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck as everything was repeated— out came the men carrying pistols, the short balding one in another hideous suit, and then… and then Bane. There he was, standing tall and confident in his god damned winter jacket that had to have been sweltering on his skin. Not that something like temperature mattered much to a man like Bane. John watched, waiting for Bane to turn, waiting to be spotted, but this time it didn't happen. This time Bane didn't turn and spare him a glance. It shouldn't have been as disappointing as it was.

Half wild from lack of sleep, Blake tried to form a plan. It wouldn't be smart to take on all those men with guns, and he wanted to get Bane alone, but that would just be asking for too much. He let out a shaky breath, waiting for the men to enter the building before he exited the garage. Sticking to the shadows wasn't hard at this time of night, especially considering the lack of street lamps. He made it around the building, scouted for entry and exit points, and then promptly scaled the building on an unoccupied side, slipping in through a smashed-in window.

A man yelped nearby and Blake’s head whipped around to see a goon with a cigarette dangling out of his lips struggling to get his gun out of its holster. Blake was fast and silent as his fist connected with the man’s jaw and the goon was out cold before the safety was even off on the pistol. The room seemed to be otherwise unoccupied and Blake stood against the inside of the door frame, listening for anyone out in the hallway. The floorboards on the second (top) floor seemed half molded and creaky, some areas even completely rotted away and John pursed his lips, treading carefully as he sneaked into the dark hallway.

An acrid smell wafted up from the first floor and Blake’s nose wrinkled. He went to peak over the banister overlooking the bottom floor but immediately pulled back and plastered himself against the wall as Bane and three suited goons came out of a room downstairs talking among themselves. Blake could hear Bane’s wheezing voice from his position, and oh how it made him ache. He wanted to surrender, to throw himself at Bane’s feet, to out himself and get it over with, but although he may be a broken pervert, he wasn't a complete idiot, and those other men, those goons, they weren't part of the plan. He wanted Bane, not them, and fuck he’d be lucky if he didn't get himself shot before Bane even realized who he was.

“I think we are through here,” Bane was saying, “There is nothing left for me to handle. Thank you for your time, Mister Gold. We will be in touch.”

Blake’s heart hammered against his rib cage and the sweat at the back of his neck dampened his hair. He couldn't let Bane leave, couldn't let it end this soon, but what was he supposed to do with all these men trailing along with him? 

His throat was so dry, his lips cracking, his mind racing, and he was ashamedly half hard. He needed Bane. Now.

Sneaking back through to the room he entered from, Blake stepped carefully over the man who was still taking a dirt nap. He crawled out the window, swung down to the first floor, checked to make sure the way was clear and made a run for the SUV. There was no driver, no one watching the vehicle— how stupid of them and convenient for him. He could hear the gravel crunching below their feet, could hear the men chatting, and Bane wasn't speaking, wasn't saying a word, which was lucky for Blake because he was already weak enough in the knees.

The first man came around to get in the car and Blake sprung forward, smashing his fist into the man’s face, breaking his nose and sending him to the ground with a muffled shout. There was another goon behind him now, cocking his gun and Blake cartwheeled out of the way, rounded on him and ripping the gun from his hands, smashing him over the back of the head with it and sending him to the ground with his friend. John’s blood was pumping, adrenaline on high, and he felt like a juggernaut as he swung his fist at a third man’s forearm, knocking the gun from his grip and kicking his knee in. Not a fatal injury, but it’d keep him down.

A fourth man had the time to shoot at him and the bullet narrowly missed Blake before he sprung over the car, rounded on the gunman and shooting a paralytic dart at him. It hit and mid turn, the man was on the ground as well. But he’d gotten a bullet off, and surely there were more men on the way. And where the hell had Bane gotten off to—

Hard, thick fingers dug into the meat of his neck, lifting Blake off the ground from behind. Nightwing flailed, his own hands going up to claw at the hand painfully gripped onto his neck. “Fuck, let— let go!” he hissed, teeth bared, feet kicking even though he knew it was useless. More men rushed out of the building toting guns, and Blake knew he was fucked. He clenched his eyes shut, waiting to be filled with bullet holes…

“Who the fuck is this freak?” an unfamiliar voice asked somewhere behind him. He could feel the weight of eyes and the barrels of guns boring into him and it made him sick to his stomach.

A heavy sigh, this one from Bane, and Nightwing went still. He stopped flailing, let his hands drop limply at his sides, and just dangled there. The mask Bane wore prevented Blake from ever feeling breath over his skin, from ever seeing lips, a nose, anything but beautiful blue-grey eyes and brunette eyebrows that expressed too much emotion, but… but sometimes Blake liked to imagine he could feel Bane’s sighs against his shoulder, against his cheek, sometimes he liked to pretend that those heavy sighs could be felt instead of just heard. God he was fucking pathetic. It wasn't easy holding back the sob that welled up in his throat.

“He is a little bird I set free that could not seem to stay away,” Bane proclaimed, and Blake felt his cock stir, his mouth drop open with a strained gasp. Behind him, Bane chuckled quietly, privately-- a joke between them. “He is none of your concern. And he is alone, I assure you. Now leave us. And get these men out of here. They need medical attention it would seem. I have no use for them as they are."

Blake could have cried with sheer relief if not happiness. There was an argument between some of the men, but Bane was ignoring them. The tall muscular villain set Blake down on his feet but didn't let go of him. He was dragged roughly along as Bane opened one of the doors on the SUV and shoved Blake in hard against the leather seats, John’s shin smashing painfully into the bottom of the door frame, making him cry out in pain. There was more murmuring and Bane climbed into the vehicle beside John as another man took the driver’s seat.

A big meaty hand was around his neck again, wrestling him into place with his head in Bane’s lap. It was silent in the car as they took off, driving to God knows where, and Blake held very still in Bane’s lap as his hair was petted. Bane’s breathing could be heard as his fingers stroked through raven locks, and just as the silence started to turn too uncomfortable to handle, Bane finally spoke. “It is nice to see you again, Robin. Tell me, what did you think you were doing, stalking me like that. What did you think to accomplish with such actions?”

Swallowing thickly, his erection straining between his legs, Blake tried to speak but his voice broke. He trembled in Bane’s grasp, his mind reeling from everything. Months had gone by and he’d been dreaming of this, wanting, needing this! He let out a shaky breath and tried again. “I wanted— I wanted you. I couldn't— My therapist said I should move on but—“ he babbled, his voice breaking as if it had been raked over coals, and he just wanted to bury his face in Bane’s thigh, against that thick winter coat and cry like the unquestionably broken man he was.

The fingers in his hair slowed, came down to rest on his shoulders. “Shhh, I understand. I should never have let you go. I let them take you… and I regret it.”

It was too much. Blake burst into tears at that, burying his face against the dirty cargo pants that Bane wore. His whimpers were muffled against the material, and although his mask was waterproof, his tears were building up under it and he had to slide it off, wiping his eyes with the palm of his hand. The mask fell to the floorboards and all pain was forgotten for a moment as he shimmied into a sitting position and cried into Bane’s coat, outright sobbing like a child. “I missed you— missed you so fucking much and I—“ he choked, his vision bleary and his nose running, “I couldn't do it, couldn't be normal like they wanted, and I’m just— just a fucking mess and I know I’m probably so disgusting to you right now, this is sick, I shouldn't want this, but—“

One of Bane’s large hands was on the side of his face now, not in an affectionate sort of embrace, more of a vice-like hold to keep Blake still. The mask hid any sort of smile that might have been there, but he could see a smirk in the villain’s sharp grey eyes as he held John still, his thumb brushing lips teasingly. “Yes, Darling. I know. Do not think that when I let you go, I stopped watching you. You are mine, and I never truly let go of what is mine,” it was almost a purr instead of a wheeze. Bane’s grip loosened and his hand slid to the back of John’s head, gripping his hair tightly as he jerked the young man’s head back to expose his throat. “This outfit. I like it. The bird though….” Bane wheezed darkly, his free hand coming up to ghost fingers over the bright blue emblem. “I do not think it suits you. You should change it, my Pet. You should not be representing yourself with a free animal that can come and go as it pleases. It sends the wrong message.”

A dry sob ripped from Blake’s throat and he wrapped his hand around Bane’s wrist, stilling the fingers on his chest. His mouth opened to say something, anything, an encouragement, a plea, but nothing came out.

The masked man raised his eyebrows, glancing down at the hand on his wrist and then chuckled. “Let us see how many of my lessons you have retained in my absence.”

This was what he’d wanted, what he’d been dreaming of for months, what his body craved! And so there was no hesitation, no fight in him whatsoever when Bane shoved Blake’s face in his crotch. He slid down on the floorboards uncomfortably, a hot pain shooting up through his shin from when he's bumped it earlier, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins numbed it enough to push through. His hands shook only from excitement as he wrestled open Bane’s zipper and pulled out the half hard cock resting within. John could smell Bane, smell the tangy and bitter musk of sweat that clung to the man’s skin as he went down, his lips wet with saliva and throat relaxing to take in as much as possible.

A steady hand rested in his hair, encouraging him as he sucked, his face buried between Bane’s legs, nose nestled in thick dark pubic hair that tickled. After all the time Blake had spent with Bane, he’d lost his gag reflex and any sort of shame. Bane wheezed steadily, his hips stilled but his cock twitching as the young man kneeling between his legs worked him over expertly, eagerly. When Blake's mouth began to get tired, his jaw locking up and making the tears well up with a terrible ache, Bane's wheezing breath hitched and he yanked at John’s hair, pulling him up to bare that gorgeous neck of his once more. “Your mouth is as pleasurable as it always was, my little bird. But we need to work on that stamina. Now let us see about your other end.”

Blake nodded, his eyes going darker with lust before Bane began to move, began shoving him down face first into the seat, grabbing at the small utility belt around the young man’s waist. Bane crushed it under deft fingers before ripping Blake’s pants down his thighs, fabric giving way easily to reveal pale skin marked only with faint scars from their last stretch of time spent together. John panted, his cheek pressed to chilled seat cover, bare ass in the air. There was more rustling behind him, and he turned his head, caught an exchange between Bane and the driver, and then Blake was blushing hotter under the thinly veiled glare of disgust from the man in the driver’s seat. He may not have had any shame left, but Blake couldn't stand that look, had to turn away, eyes clenching shut as two slicked fingers shoved hard into him, drawing a yelp from his lips.

Bane fucked John with his thick fingers, not aiming for prostate, not aiming to please in any way, just to prepare. He pulled his fingers out, coated them liberally with more lubricant and then shoved them back in without a word.

Gasping and whining below the larger man, Blake’s toes were curling in his boots, fingers scrambling to find purchase on the seat under him, on the floorboards, anywhere. The digits in his ass were insistent, uncomfortable, he wanted them out but he didn't, wanted less but wanted more. His body and mind were warring with each other and tears were welling up in his eyes as he tried to still himself, mentally prepare himself for what came next, for what he'd been anticipating for months. Not that what he wanted mattered to Bane, and really, that was the best part of their relationship. Bane didn't pretend to want to please Blake, didn't lie about his intentions, just flat out didn't care. Half the time Bane didn't even speak to him, just did whatever he wanted. It made John’s cock incredibly hard, the blatant mystery of it all, wondering whether or not Bane would let him cum this time, wondering if Bane would just lose interest halfway through and leave Blake unsatisfied. Anything could happen with a volatile homicidal maniac as his lover.

An incredibly thick cock brought Blake’s attention back to the present as Bane shoved into him, coat gone now, large hands at John’s shoulder and hip to keep him in place as Bane shoved in sans warning. Growling like some sort of wild beast, the villain pounded in brutally, not having prepared the young man near enough to be ready for this pace. Bane’s eyebrows arched and sweat gathered at his temples as he fucked hard into Blake, his blunt fingernails digging into smooth black material that still covered the vigilante's back. “Oh yes,” he groaned, voice muffled by the mask, “I admit I am not one to be sentimental,” Bane continued, sounding out of breath as Blake cried out under him. “But I cannot deny that I missed this. You are much tighter than I remember, John.”

Hot tears rolled down Blake’s cheeks, blurring his vision as he struggled, half hard, to keep pace. Bane was fucking into him like a lion-- long, deep strokes that pierced him to the core and God he’d missed this, the full feeling, the scratch to his itch, and as he sobbed into the seat, he was reminded just how broken he was, how ruined. There was no shame in that thought. Bane had trained him too well. 

He was a mess as Bane came in him, Blake feeling a hot, wet mess fill him up. “Fuck fuck fuck!” he babbled, saliva running down his chin and dribbling onto the seat as the cock in him twitched hard, coating his insides thoroughly.

Bane milked himself into John, his forehead heavy and bowed against the middle of the young man’s back as he rocked slowly, steadily. When he finally pulled out, he sat back against the door, sated. Beside him, Blake still cried pathetically, his entrance stretched and open and twitching, cum dripping down between his thighs, all over the inside of his suit. After a moment of silence, Blake had managed to stifle his sniffles, laying limp on the seat and Bane smiled at him with his eyes. “Welcome back, my sweetest Robin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. The final(?) installment. I hope the ending was up to par. I'd actually begun to write a chapter after this awhile back, where Crane is introduced and a whole drug plot was taking place where Bane and Scarecrow were aiming to take over Gotham again via the youth of the city-- they were going to drug the young folk and maybe have them mind controlled? I wasn't sure. I'm absolute shit with plot, I really am. I could never figure out exactly where to take it and ended up just having Blake as p much a concubine, lying around all day half naked and having some kind of inner struggle because on the one hand he knew he belonged to Bane, on the other he still loved his city and didn't want Bane's plans to succeed. But I didn't have a climax in mind, I didn't have an ending, I didn't even have a middle. The only thing I had was a beginning and I was stuck. I might try to write it again at some point down the road if I get inspired again (maybe when TDKR comes out on DVD and I can watch it a dozen times in a row?) but I'm not making any promises. 
> 
> But yeah. might go back and add more to the first Broken since that was clearly left off in an awkwardly abrupt fashion with no sort of closure haha. we'll see. 
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed the fic. glad to see there's still a few of you out there who enjoy bane/blake as noncon/rape. i certainly enjoy writing it.


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